


the sincerest form of flattery

by containsquinine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Marauders' Era, Mutual Pining, communication? I hardly know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 20:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16940040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/containsquinine/pseuds/containsquinine
Summary: Sirius Black is a reckless man.





	the sincerest form of flattery

Sirius Black is a reckless man, everyone knows that. 

The man in the muggle bar looks so much like Remus it stops him in his tracks. Sirius abandons his thoughts of disappearing into his gin and tonic, caught up in the line of the man’s shoulders, the tousled brown hair. The music pounds in his ears and his throat, the bass nearly too loud to hear over. When the man sees Sirius looking he flashes him a bloodthirsty smile, hardly anything like Remus after all. Sirius doesn’t care though, figuring a cheap imitation is better than nothing. 

They end up in the restroom, Sirius crushed against the cold tile wall, the heat of the man’s mouth hungry against his neck. It’s easy to get lost in the fantasy, far too easy, and afterward something that’s been knotted in the pit of his stomach relaxes minutely. 

Sirius feels rather like he’s on to something. 

_______________________________________

The days disappear right in front of Sirius’s eyes. The lead up to both the holidays and the full wears on him and Remus, who is dropping weight again. 

Remus won’t listen to Sirius or go to Snape for the wolfsbane, forcing Sirius to watch him suffer instead. Sirius tries to talk to Remus about it, calmly, and breaks a plate in their kitchen instead. He slices open his palm on one of the shards and Remus didn’t come home for two days after, eyes lethal with anger Remus won't voice.

Sirius attempts to dissolve his nerves and pent up frustration in every willing pair of arms he can find. And if they happen to resemble a certain flatmate of his, well, that’s his business. What Remus doesn’t know won’t hurt him, Sirius figures. 

_______________________________________

 

Two days after calling a truce, Remus stumbles into the living room at half past eleven. There’s a mug of the coffee Sirius made clutched in his hand, and he looks like he’s just woken out of a coma. This is particularly absurd because Sirius knows full well that Remus was up until nearly 5 am. Sirius tripped over him in the dark while he frantically scrubbed the bathroom within an inch of its life until Sirius shouted at him to go to sleep so he could piss in peace. 

He’s still wearing his sleep clothes, which is as sure a sign of the impending full moon as any, and the ratty rust-colored tee shirt with holes in it does nothing to hide his pallor or the sharpness of his elbows. I really must get him to eat more, Sirius thinks. As Sirius watches, Remus drags a hand over his face blearily and trips on the too-long hem of his pyjama pants. He manages to catch himself before he goes down, but the stumble drags his pyjama pants low enough to expose a pale hip and a distinct lack of anything under Remus’s pyjamas. Coffee sloshes onto his shirt. 

“Don’t you look a picture,” Sirius says, and chuckles at the quiet growl he receives in response. 

Remus flops onto the couch next to Sirius and jams his bare feet under the blanket in Sirius’s lap. Sirius, unfailingly charmed by the disappearance of Remus’s prim demeanor as the lunar cycle drags on, tries to hide a smile. Remus blinks at his coffee soaked shirt front, shrugs, and then reaches over and steals what remains of Sirius’ abandoned toast. Remus settles back into the couch, wriggling his hips a little so they pop, and groans. 

Sirius looks away. 

“Anything interesting in the paper?” Remus asks around a mouthful of toast. 

“Not really,” Sirius says. He picks up his mug and drains it so he doesn’t stare at the way Remus swallows or the hole in his shirt that is dangerously close to his left nipple, or the other one that shows a sliver of Remus’s curved waist. 

Remus pokes one of Sirius’s knees with a toe. “You alright?” 

Sirius gives him a sunny smile. “We’ve that party at Lily’s tonight.”

Remus looks unconvinced. He rolls his eyes. 

“C’mon Moony, it’ll be a good time.” 

“I doubt they’ll even notice if I’m not there,” Remus says. 

“I’ll notice,” Sirius says.

Remus blinks at him. His brown eyes are serious as they search Sirius’s face. Sirius fights the urge to look away. 

“Okay,” Remus finally says. 

“Good. Wear something festive,” Sirius chokes out. He dislodges Remus’s feet from his lap and leaves the parlor, desperate to get away from the look on Remus’s face and what he may find in Sirius’s own. 

He needs to find someone to drag to this party so he doesn’t spend the whole night staring at Remus. 

_______________________________________

 

The party could be going better. 

They made it through dinner without incident, but Sirius can’t focus. His usual ease at socializing has deserted him in favor of staring at Remus and downing as many firewhiskeys as he can manage to sneak under Lily’s reproachful eye. 

The issue is that Sirius knows better. He knows better than to think his pining will amount to anything. He knows better than to think living with Remus would change things between them. Sirius has been bandaging Remus up after the full moon for years now, which means he has seen Remus in every state of undress or otherwise several times over. He knows every inch of his pale skin, all his scars, knows exactly how to work the knots out of Remus’s shoulders after he’s bandaged, knows if he presses just right he can make Remus moan, but it doesn’t matter. 

What Sirius should have known is that learning exactly what Remus looks like disheveled in his sleep shirt and y-fronts, hearing him moan in the night with nightmare and pleasure would make things worse, not better. Seeing Remus drenched in domesticity, more relaxed in their flat than he ever was at school, guard down but still achingly not-his, is a brand of torture Sirius hadn’t bargained for.

It doesn’t matter that Sirius knows how Remus likes his eggs, doesn’t matter that Sirius knows what Remus’s room smells like after he’s had a wank, doesn’t matter—it doesn’t matter. Sirius shakes his head and tries to focus on the party. Remus followed Sirius out the door with nary a grumble, which was suspicious in and of itself, although he did protest wearing anything other than his usual uniform of sweaters. 

There are too many eyes on Sirius right now and he’s gotten lost in his head once again. It seems he managed to stop talking mid story, caught up staring at Remus, and now Lily and Sirius’s date, The-Remus-With-Too-Long-Hair, are staring at him. He clears his throat and resumes, tossing a disarming smile at his date, while continuing his surveillance of Remus.

Across the room, Frank chatters animatedly while Remus pretends to listen. He looks spaced out, the way he gets before the full, a mug of spiked Butterbeer clenched tightly in his pale hands. There are faint spots of color on Remus’s cheeks from the liquor, and Sirius can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that Remus will socialize, drink, and eat for Lily. Finally Frank quiets down and Remus startles back into the moment. Sirius manages to crack a joke that earns him a hearty laugh from the group he is at the heart of. Remus doesn’t even notice, smile vacant as he slips around Frank and out of the room. 

Sirius slams his firewhiskey back and hooks a hand into the back of his date’s robes. They give a cheerful, if unconvincing, goodbye to Lily—who simply raises an eyebrow at them—and Sirius drags his date down a dark hallway, empty glass abandoned on a decorative end table. 

_______________________________________

 

Remus knows better. 

Sirius’s mouth is wet with whiskey, even from across the room, and he is animated from his fifth (sixth?) cup of the night. Remus sips his own mug, which is also spiked, although a fair measure less than Sirius’s, he suspects. Remus picks at the unraveling hem of one of his sweater’s olive green sleeves, which gape around his wrists. Remus tries to focus on what Frank is saying to him, instead of watching Sirius gesture more and more wildly as he shares a story with Lily across the room. Sirius’s date hangs on every word, his long hair flopping into his eyes, and it fills Remus with a rage he pretends only afflicts him during the full. 

What a tosser, Remus thinks as the other man laughs prettily and looks at Sirius under his lashes. 

Remus swallows more butterbeer and manages to tune back in just as Frank asks, “Are you all right, Remus?” 

Remus blinks. “Yes, why?” 

“You seem distracted. And, well, you look rather thin,” Frank says, worry creasing his forehead. 

Remus smiles at him. “I’m sorry I haven’t been better company tonight, I’ve got a lot on my mind. But I’m fine.”  
Frank nods. “Troubling times.” 

Remus drains his mug and licks the residue of rum from his teeth. 

“How is Alice?” He asks, starting Frank on another tangent. 

Some time later Remus gets his chance to slip away and he takes it, ducking into the kitchen. He refills his mug and then slips off into the dark part of Lily’s parents’ house. He tries a couple of doors before he finds a bathroom out of the way to slip into. The walls are papered with a silver and green fleur-de-lis pattern and there is a giant tub with claw feet. Remus clambers into the tub and pulls off his cardigan to use as a pillow, the porcelain is numbingly cold against his overheated skin. He tries to get comfortable as he drinks his fourth mug of Butterbeer. The rum is making him warm inside, finally, warm and sparkly. 

He valiantly pretends that he isn’t hiding, but it’s hard to manage the lie, even to himself. He really is shit at parties. Remus tries to think of anything other than Sirius, who has gone out every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night the last month and come home with somebody different on his arm each night, every single one of them lean with sandy brown hair and copper eyes. It galls him that one of them is standing on Sirius’s arm in the Potters’ den right now. Remus knows Sirius will fuck him tonight, although the man has been introduced as an ‘acquaintance’ to the group. 

With the impending holidays, he wonders if the stress is behind Sirius’s recent bout of drunken hookups. He has listened to Sirius fuck each of the people he brought home in the last three weeks and figures he will have to listen again tonight, even though it makes him feel as though he is slowly losing his mind. Remus knows exactly what Sirius sounds like when he comes by now. It does strange things to his stomach. Tonight’s meal is the most Remus has eaten in three weeks due to his mysteriously vanished appetite. He presses a hand to the hollow of his belly, thinks about the four days to the full, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

Somehow it feels like Sirius’s seemingly endless parade of drunken debauchery is a show for Remus, feels like his is missing something very important. He is used to not getting what he wants, not getting anything at all, and Remus tells himself sternly not to think about it. He knows better than to think of himself in some type of relationship, particularly one with one of his best mates. 

Remus Lupin has always been a smart man, and that’s what he is repeating to himself when the bathroom door bursts open and Sirius tumbles in, intertwined with his Remus lookalike. They are in the middle of a kiss deep enough that neither seems to realize the bathroom is occupied. Not-Remus has his hand up the back of Sirius’s dress shirt, which has been yanked from his ostentatiously tight muggle slacks, and a hand in Sirius’s hair. He tugs, and Sirius moans as he moves them backward, further into the bathroom. Remus jolts upright, not sure what to do, and narrowly avoids spilling butterbeer all over himself.

Sirius trips on the rug, and the two men go down in a tangled heap, Sirius laughing drunkenly into the other man’s mouth. As Not-Remus pushes down into Sirius, splaying his legs and baring his throat, Sirius goes pliant under him. Remus’s brain short circuits as Sirius arches his hips up and moans again when Not-Remus pulls his hair back, harder this time. Remus feels blood burning in his cheeks and neck as he just sits there and watches, like his limbs have turned to stone. He can’t move, can’t look away. 

This is nothing like hearing Sirius through the wall, nothing at all, and a breathless noise makes its way from Remus’s throat when Sirius rakes his nails down Not-Remus’s back. As though Sirius hears him, he looks around dazedly. He locks eyes with Remus and breaks into a feral smile while Not-Remus busily sucks at his throat. Leave it to Sirius to preen at a moment like this, Remus thinks dizzily.

“It seems this bathroom is already occupied, eh, Jason?” Sirius says to his date, throatily. Sirius does nothing to disengage the man. 

“Jason?” Not-Remus says, pulling back from him finally and looking down at Sirius with a dangerous expression. 

Sirius doesn’t look away from Remus, that smile still on his face, clearly unconcerned by the way he is sprawled suggestively on the ground, and shrugs. 

“You can’t even remember my name?” Not-Remus says. He shoots one disgusted look at Sirius, and then one at Remus as well for good measure, before he picks himself off the floor and storms out.  
Sirius dissolves into drunken giggles. He sits up and eyes Remus, half undressed and still clearly aroused. His lips are red. The look on his face is proprietary and Remus’s gut clenches, viciously. He wishes he could pin Sirius down like that idiot had, wishes that look would be directed at him, and not as an afterthought. Remus looks away. 

“God you’re a prat, Padfoot,” Remus manages, before he, too, bursts into laughter. 

“And you’re just having a nice bath time, are you?” Sirius counters. 

Remus forces his hysterical laughter down and shuts his eyes. He leans his head back against the lip of the tub before he drains the last of his Butterbeer. 

“Let’s go home,” Sirius says quietly, words slightly slurred. 

Remus nods his agreement. 

_______________________________________

 

The next morning Sirius wakes up with a blinding headache. He can’t remember getting home, but he’s wearing his sleep shirt and pants. Strangely, he’s alone in his bed. He wonders what happened to his date. Sirius stumbles out of his room, hoping to find some food and maybe a potion for his headache. He bangs into the doorjamb leading into the kitchen, and then nearly smacks into Remus, who is stirring something on the stove. He’s dressed only in a pair of black pants and his hair is ruffled.

“D’you have any of that headache stuff?” Sirius asks thickly. He tries valiantly not to stare at the curve of Remus’s ass and ends up staring at the ropes of scars on his back instead. 

Remus wordlessly hands him a steaming glass of a light green potion. Sirius gulps it down, sighing at the tingle of mint, and instantly feels the fog of his hangover lift, his headache melting from the base of his skull. 

“God Remus, I love you,” he moans, before pillowing his head on Remus’s shoulders. He feels Remus stiffen, and Sirius kicks himself for being thoughtless. 

Remus slips out of his hold, and hands him the spatula. Remus won’t even look him in the eyes.

“Don’t burn the sausage,” Remus says, and then he’s gone. 

He reappears just as Sirius is waving everything onto plates, covered from ankle to wrist, even though Sirius knows how hot he runs before the full. He can nearly see the heat on Remus, this close to the change. Remus accepts the plate and then turns to disappear again. 

“Remus,” Sirius says, voice catching. He’s not sure what else he means to say. Why won’t Remus even look at him? 

Remus stops and turns. 

“Is—” Sirius tries again. 

“I’m just tired,” Remus says, and then he’s gone. 

_______________________________________

 

Remus doesn’t even get out of bed for the next day or two, maybe three. He loses track. 

He can feel the full under his skin, infinitely worse without the wolfsbane he no longer has access to. Everything blurs together: the sheets against his overheated skin—Sirius on the floor of an ornate bathroom—claws lodging in his back—Sirius’s hair tickling his shoulders—running through the forbidden forest—James spinning Lily in moonlight he will never walk under freely—cut glass decanters glimmering with poison—his mother screaming, fists in his father’s robes—howling—blood in his mouth—Sirius spreading his legs—silver chains around his neck, burning—splinters digging into the thin skin of his knees—Sirius under him, writhing—a lit match held against his forehead—Remus gasps and sits up. 

He’s in Sirius’s bed without a stitch on. His veins feel leaden, his muscles like overworked dough. The full is past, and he can tell it was a bad one. 

Searing pain makes him lean back into the pillows. He’s heavily bandaged across his left shoulder, his ribs, and his right thigh. The bandages on his thigh creep all the way up his hip and wrap around to his back. A nasty headache sits right behind his eyes. There’s a quiet knock, and then Sirius enters, holding a tray with several decanters and fresh bandages on it. 

Sirius has a black eye, and a bandage on his wrist. 

“Are you alright?” Remus asks, and attempts to sit up again. 

Sirius arches an eyebrow at him while Remus struggles. Finally he gives up, earning a smirk. 

“I’m no worse off than you are,” he says. “Now shove over.” 

Remus manages a half-hearted wriggle and clears enough space for Sirius to sit. It’s difficult to do without yanking the sheets down low enough to expose his dignity. Not like there’s much left of that, Remus thinks. 

“How do you feel?” Sirius asks. 

“I’ve been better,” Remus says. His voice is gravelly. “How bad was it?” 

Sirius shrugs. 

“That bad, eh?” Remus attempts a chuckle. 

“Gave me a run for my money, that’s for sure. Thought we might need reinforcements.” 

Remus reaches up and traces the bruise around Sirius’s eye, ignoring the way the muscles in his neck scream at the movement. Sirius’s eyelashes flutter against his fingertips. He wants to kiss him so badly it’s like silver against his skin. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

“What’s wrong, Moony?” Sirius asks, voice hushed. 

Remus swallows. He can’t say it. 

Sirius just blinks, like he knows what Remus is thinking, and grabs for one of the cups on his tray. 

“Drink,” he says, and Remus does. The thick purple syrup in the cup Sirius hands him is for pain. The next one is a poisonous orange, for healing his torn muscles, and the third is a silver bright enough to make Remus flinch. 

“Where did you find Wolfsbane?” Remus asks, voice hushed. 

“Never you mind. Just drink it, and sleep.” 

He knocks it back, and starts to feel the combined warmth of the three potions spill through his chest. Remus wants to ask Sirius to stay, but before he can, the pain relief syrup kicks in and he’s asleep. 

_______________________________________

 

Sirius shuts the door and swallows. He tells himself he will leave Remus alone to heal, but he ends up sitting in the hallway outside his own bedroom door anyway. 

If he were a better person he wouldn’t have put Remus, naked and bleeding, into his own bed. If he were a better person he wouldn’t want to crawl in there beside him while Remus is at his most vulnerable. Sirius slips his fingers under the bandage on his wrist. Vulnerable, but still dangerous. He pities the person who tries to get one over on Remus. 

It’s going to be a long night, Sirius decides, and finally retreats to the living room to brood in comfort. 

He’s managed to fall asleep when there’s a loud thud. Sirius opens his eyes blearily, not sure what woke him, when a scream tears through the flat. 

“Sirius!” Remus cries out, voice bloodcurdling in the dead of night. 

Sirius is suddenly completely awake. He nearly jumps out of his skin, and trips over the coffee table in his haste to get to the bedroom. 

He bangs into the bedroom, where Remus is tangled in Sirius’s sheets, sweating. He’s dreaming, Sirius thinks dazedly, lowering his wand. He’s dreaming about me. 

Remus growls, low in his throat, and writhes against the bed, his face contorted. Before Sirius can caution himself, he’s in the bed with him, shaking Remus in an attempt to wake him. 

“Remus, you’re dreaming!” Sirius shouts in his face, gripping him by his shoulders, to hell with his injuries. Remus’s eyes open and they’re yellow. The breath whooshes out of Sirius’s chest as Remus flips them, getting on top of him and pinning him easily. 

“REMUS!” he shouts in his face, voice cracking, getting prepared to change if Remus somehow manages to morph. 

Remus freezes. He blinks a couple of times, slowly. His eyes are back to their normal copper color. He looks down at Sirius, sprawled underneath him, and flushes. Remus sits back, and the sheet slips off his hips. He doesn’t even seem to notice. 

“I’m sorry,” Remus chokes out. “I thought you were—“ he trails off. 

“Can I stay with you?” Sirius hears himself ask. 

The shock is plain on Remus’s face. 

“Sirius, no.” He moves to get off Sirius, belatedly grasping for the sheet. 

“You were yelling for me anyway,” Sirius says crossly. 

Remus stares at him for a few long moments. 

“I could hurt you,” he finally says. Remus turns his back to him, and runs his hands through his hair, tugging on it in frustration. The bandage across the back of his shoulders has come loose. 

It’s the same argument Sirius feels he’s fought ten times already. Sirius, I’m dangerous, Sirius I’m a liability, Sirius it’s better for you to distance yourself, no we can’t live together, no we can’t work together. No, a thousand times over. 

“I can take care of myself, Moony.” 

“Can you?” Remus asks darkly. 

Sirius stiffens. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You are too reckless by half!” Remus whirls on him. 

“Oh, and I’m the only one, am I?” Sirius counters. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You won’t take your potions, you won’t eat, you won’t even look at me, Remus. What exactly are you so scared of?” Sirius is in Remus’s face, not giving a whit if Remus is hurt or not. He’s sick of Remus hiding in plain sight. 

Remus freezes. 

“This isn’t a game,” Remus finally manages. 

Sirius reaches out slowly. Remus doesn’t move, frozen and wide-eyed as Sirius cups his jaw. Sirius breathes out and runs his hands through the soft hair at the nape of Remus’s neck.

“I know,” Sirius breathes. “Let me sleep with you, Remus.” 

Remus nods like he’s in a trance, eyes wide and unsure. 

“Nox,” Sirius whispers, and they’re plunged into darkness. 

_______________________________________

 

Sirius manages to fall asleep easily, for all that he’s still fully dressed and nervous about it being awkward. The weight of Remus next to him in his bed, heat radiating off him—less now that the full has past, but still more than usual, sheets whispering against bare skin, calms Sirius enough that he’s asleep before he knows it. 

He wakes up deliciously warm, with someone’s weight pinning him down. It feels good, safe, and Sirius arches into it like a cat, back and hips rolling reflexively. A hand in his hair tightens as he moves his hips, and Sirius opens his eyes, tingles of pleasure rippling down his spine. Remus is on top of him, tangled into him, a hand in his hair, a leg around his hips, face pressed against Sirius’s throat. 

Remus is completely out, pliant against him, and Sirius can’t help sighing. He runs a hand down Remus’s bare back, feeling the ridges of scars under his fingertips. He does it again, savoring being allowed, until Remus moves against him slowly. 

“Sirius,” Remus says into his ear, low and gravelly with sleep. The proximity sends a shiver through him. “What’re you doing?” 

“Nothing,” he whispers, as his fingertips hit the back of the bandage where it’s taped around Remus’s back. He knuckles into the band of muscle low against Remus’s back, where Sirius knows he must still be sore, despite the potions.

“Mm,” Remus murmurs, and flexes his hips against Sirius. “Feels good.” 

Sirius feels it low in his stomach. His hands shake as he skates them around Remus’s sides and hips. He presses his thumbs into the ridges of muscle at the v of Remus’s pelvis, and Remus moans into Sirius’s throat. 

Sirius hears his breathing hitch, knows there’s no way Remus didn’t hear it, knows there’s no way Remus can’t feel him hardening against him. 

Remus stretches against him, languid. “What do you want?” Remus asks, voice filthy in his ear, fingertips tickling his scalp. Sirius can feel that Remus is half-hard too. 

“Let me,” Sirius breathes out. 

Remus presses his lips against Sirius’s neck in a chaste kiss that burns through his veins. Remus opens his mouth against him and Sirius feels the gentle scrap of teeth, careful not to break the skin, the danger in it heady regardless, and it startles a moan out of Sirius. 

“Reckless,” Remus breathes. 

“You’re one to talk,” Sirius says, voice choked as he rakes his nails up Remus’s back. 

Remus shivers, full body, and then he’s climbing properly on top of Sirius, eyes wicked as he straddles his hips, grin lopsided and feral. Sirius nearly forgets to breathe at the look on his face, and thinks that muggle’s bloodthirsty smile those weeks ago in the bar might not have been such a poor imitation after all. 

“Look at you,” Sirius says, voice hushed. Normally he tries not to give so much away, but there’s not much point in pretending with Remus, not now, not now that he can finally touch him. 

Sirius runs his hands up his hips and gets caught on the bandage. Sirius lifts the tape and clears it from Remus’s hips, tossing the bandage off the side of the bed, before undoing the others and discarding them as well. The potions have done their job. What was a massive set of gashes deep in Remus’s thigh, curling around his hip, is now closed up, faded to a silvery purple. The bruises on his ribs are almost completely gone. 

Remus bears it patiently, but Sirius can see the self consciousness creeping into his face. Sirius sits up, dislodging Remus, and lays Remus out on the sheets, his hair fanning out against the pillow.

“Sirius—“ Remus starts, but Sirius kisses him before he can continue. Sirius loses himself in it, in the way Remus opens up to him, the way he groans when Sirius gently tugs on his lower lip. Remus slides his hands under Sirius’s shirt, hands burning against him, and pulls it up over his head. 

“Fuck,” Remus whispers. His hands splay against his ribs and drag a molten path down his stomach, pausing at the button of his well-worn muggle jeans. Sirius feels like Remus can see through him as he pops the button and pulls his fly open torturously slow. Remus’s fingers tickle the most sensitive part of his hips and Sirius wriggles against him, impatient. Remus grins, chuckling as Sirius flinches away from Remus’s tickling and shucks off his jeans, narrowly managing to stay on the bed. 

When he’s as naked as Remus has been this entire frustrating time, Sirius smiles at him rakishly, enjoying the way Remus’s eyes linger on him. 

“Always preening,” Remus murmurs, grinning lopsidedly, and then he pounces on Sirius, flattening him against the mattress. Remus is too thin from his own neglect, but he’s still roped with lean muscle, tight in his thighs, which Sirius becomes acutely aware of when Remus shoves one of them between his own, opening his legs, and pushing them out and up to make room for himself between them. 

“Only for you,” Sirius manages. 

“I want to take you apart,” Remus says into his throat, tenor vibrating through him like a growl. 

“Hnn,” Sirius groans, thick in his throat. He runs his hands down Remus’s shoulders and back, grabbing impatiently at his hips, trying to get Remus to move. He loves Remus’s weight on him, hard prick pressed against him where Remus has his legs open obscenely wide, and Sirius’s head spins. He’s running his hands up and down Remus’s back like he’s trying to calm a wild animal, soothing, restless over the muscles bunched in Remus’s back. 

Remus kisses him, deep and filthy, one hand threaded in his hair, the other trailing down his stomach, agonizingly gentle. Remus pulls back and trails kisses down his jaw. He noses down his throat like he’s scenting him and Sirius bares his throat reflexively. He can’t even tell if his eyes are still open. 

The scrape of teeth down his neck makes him shiver, and then Remus’s hand is on him finally, stroking him where he’s hard and aching. 

“Let me,” Sirius manages, needing to see his face. His eyes were closed, he realizes, and he forces them open, trying not to get lost in this. 

Remus looks wrecked, flushed and predatory, hair ruffled. He looks like he does the night of the full moon, Sirius realizes, and that thought burns through him. 

Sirius feels the telltale tingle of a cleansing spell, followed by the slick of a lubricating spell in him. It’s almost too much, staring right into Remus’s eyes as one of his fingers trails down and rubs at him, teasing little circles that make Sirius flush. 

“Look at you,” Remus whispers, hushed, as he slips the finger in, and Sirius fights the urge to crack a joke, fights the urge to hide. 

A breathy noise escapes him as Remus works his way into him, opening him up, slow and steady like most things he does, and Sirius was a goddamn fool to think that any of the men he landed in bed with would have come anywhere close to this. 

Sirius nearly has Remus in a stranglehold—arm slung around Remus’s shoulders, hands digging into the muscles at the top of his back, dragging Remus down so they’re almost too close for Remus to move his hands. Sirius mouths at Remus’s neck, relishing the ragged sound of Remus as he fights to keep it together. He presses sucking kisses against Remus’s neck and is rewarded with a moan. 

Remus has two fingers in him when he crooks them and drags little circles against the bundle of nerves in him, and Sirius moans, suddenly desperate for it. 

“C’mon,” Sirius mumbles, lifting his hips, not sure if he’s trying to get away from Remus’s wicked fingers or closer. “Fuck me, Moony, c’mon,” he says. Remus adds a finger and keeps stroking him mercilessly. Sirius can feel himself leaking all over his stomach, cock heavy and full. 

“Fuck, Sirius,” Remus chokes out. He drags a finger through the precum and sucks it into his mouth.

Sirius’s mouth goes dry, staring at Remus, every nerve in his body screaming. Remus grins at him, wicked, before he grabs Sirius’s hips and hauls him against him. Remus covers his body, hot and sweaty and relaxed in his skin, the usual nerves dissipated. 

“Are you sure?” Remus asks. 

“I will murder you if you don’t,” Sirius starts, voice breathy but as full of malice as he can make it. 

Remus laughs against his neck, and then he’s pressing in. Remus moves so slowly Sirius could swear he’s trying to kill him, sliding in like he’s trying not to break him. Remus groans low in his throat, muscles strung taught. Sirius groans too, the burn singing through his back until he feels himself opening up. 

Sirius reaches for Remus, wordlessly, and flexes his hips, grinding down and feeling Remus inside him, burning him up. Remus kisses him messily, biting his lip again, muscles in his back flexing under Sirius’s grabbing hands, and then Remus is thrusting into him, hard. Sirius buries his face in Remus’s neck, feeling like he can’t look, can’t let Remus see him go to pieces. 

Sirius can feel the flex of muscle in Remus’s thighs as he pounds into him, angling his hips until he’s driving deep into him, brushing against his prostate too lightly to do anything but drive him crazy. It’s so good Sirius’s arms start to go weak, electricity building in his skull and racing down his arms. 

He realizes he’s making noise, tiny, breathless noises being punched out of his throat, and Sirius can’t even care if he’s being embarrassing. Remus finally takes pity on him and shifts him so he’s driving against his prostate, quick and hard, and then Remus’s hand is around him, stroking him way too slowly for the pace of his thrusts. 

“Look at me,” Remus says, voice gravelly, and Sirius drags his eyes open. 

Remus is biting his lip, staring down at Sirius with eyes so dilated they’re nearly black, as he takes Sirius apart. It’s too much, and Sirius comes hard, eyes rolling shut as he spends himself against Remus’s stomach. Remus thrusts a couple more times, and thens tills, staring at Sirius’s face, eyes inscrutable. 

“Wanna feel you,” Sirius says, when he thinks he can get words out. He grabs for Remus, arms surprisingly uncooperative, and then groans low in his throat as Remus gets the message and starts thrusting into him again. He’s sensitive, and each thrust sends sparks of pain through him, adrenaline twisting it into pleasure, and Sirius can almost taste it. 

Sirius rakes his nails down Remus’s back, a memory of Remus looking down at him from a bathtub, eyes hungry as someone kisses his neck, coming to him from nowhere. Remus is shaking, thrusts uncoordinated, and then Sirius bites his shoulder, careful not to break the skin, and that’s it. Remus comes in him, hot and devastating. He moans and then nearly collapses onto Sirius. 

Remus pulls out, and then flops onto his back, still pressed against Sirius’s side. They’re both sweaty and all over with fluids, but Sirius can’t bring himself to care. He feels the tickle of a cleansing spell and looks down, only to find both of them clean. Remus looks askance at him, hair wet with sweat, smile sated. 

“You always think of everything,” Sirius says. He’s suddenly exhausted, and wants nothing more than to go back to sleep with Remus half on top of him, warm and pliant. 

“You know, this whole time I thought you were fucking those guys,” Remus says, conversationally. 

Sirius’s throat dries up. He looks at Remus’s face and shivers. “I’m flexible,” Sirius finally manages to get out. 

Remus smiles at him, all of his teeth flashing in the dark, and Sirius forgets to breathe. 

Remus is going to be the death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are. I rewrote this like four times and it still managed to get away from me. I can't believe I've gotten around to posting something here at long last. That is a small miracle in and of itself. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you would like, leave a comment. I'm just out here like everybody else.


End file.
